


After All

by Jemppu



Series: Honey Mushroom [49]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Art, Culmets - Freeform, Fanart, M/M, Tumblr, honey mushroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemppu/pseuds/Jemppu
Summary: Part of"Honey Mushroom"series of illustrated Culmets momentslisted here on tumblr.Paul coming home to recovering Hugh. Chapter lost to canon, as it would've taken place during/between the events of season 2 episodes 7, but was made null by the subsequent episode... by about one lousy evening, it seems.With illustrations:"Back Home","Rocketmen","No Comfort"and"I'm Here Now".
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Series: Honey Mushroom [49]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1080993
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	After All

**Author's Note:**

> The series gets released quite out of order, as inspiration dictates, so I urge you to check out the [series list on tumblr](https://tinyurl.com/honeyshroom) for a better picture of the whole.

## 

## After All 

“Commander Stamets, you’re free to go”, the Captain orders the man standing idle at the back of the Bridge, while in between discussing the situation with the active Bridge crew, “I don’t think there’s anything more for you to do here. Good job”.  
  
Paul has trouble collecting his thoughts enough to register the dismissal right away. He’s feeling a fair bit disoriented still. Not from the time travel - he’s gotten quite used to it by now with the numerous jumps he’s had to make -, but from the sudden rush of adrenaline still bumping through his system.  
  
“Sir”, he acknowledges the order after a moment of hesitation, glancing over at the senior officer and the recent away mission’s co-pilot still standing by the Captain. He then turns to leave the Bridge, only Ensign Tilly noticing his departure.

[ ](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/183233501414/rocketmen-a-half-klingon-a-starfleet-captain)

  
  
On top of million jumbled thoughts on things that just transpired, Paul’s tight-wired mind keeps poking at him to realize some unsavory truths he didn’t have time to register in the instinctive rush. Unnecessary thoughts.  
  
The co-pilot. Fuck. Someone he had tried to avoid in person as well as in his head.  
  
He does not need these thoughts. He needs to calm down. The way Hugh is right now, he can’t just go back home to the man like this. This… tense.  
  
The doctor had been better last evening at the sickbay, but seemed quite out of sorts again this morning, upon his release.  
  
Paul had intended to keep off duty for the day, and spent the morning at home to keep Hugh company. But there are really no days off for him aboard this ship, as the sole individual capable of navigating through the network, and thus had to leave, when the call to assist with the time anomaly came in.  
  
Task, which he frankly thought would comprise only calculations and consultation. At most another jump perhaps.  
  
He certainly did not expect to be leaving the ship, beaming himself unauthorized out into a vehicle speeding through the vast open space, into the middle of a time hurricane, to a completely impromptu solo rescue mission without any survival gear on him.  
  
He is surprised of himself once again, as he has been in the past after similar feats: how he had had the incentive to act the way he did. Trained soldiers would have second thoughts about such actions.  
  
But perhaps that’s just it: he’s not trained to be cautious like a pro would? Or just trusts the math too blindly?  
  
What ever it is, he knows for certain Hugh wouldn’t approve of any of this recklessness of his. If the doctor was in a right state of mind.  
  
Which Paul has just lately started to comprehend isn’t the case. His mind having been too ecstatic from getting Hugh back, to fully register the man’s discomfort before, until just recently.  
  
Until just yesterday perhaps? And increasingly today, now that he had had some time to spent in the man’s presence.  
  
If he **did** know before, he had been too euphoric in denial to admit it to himself.  
  
The doctor will surely hear of this latest stunt, however. And Paul wants to make sure it’s from him himself. But does it need to be right now? In time.  
  
Occupied by these thoughts, Paul comes back to it, realizing the Turbolift has already brought him back to their home deck.  
  
Eager as he is, he feels he’s not ready to get back - he won’t be able to sit still and Hugh will no doubt sense his restlessness. He needs more time to calm down.

  
Dismissed or not, he decides to return to the engineering: monitor the ship’s situation from the sidelines and be ready for any further assistance the Bridge might need recovering from the encounter. Do few preparations with the drive perhaps. Check for any effects the time anomaly might’ve had on the equipment. Anything to get him to relax and down from his action high.  
  
So he does. And although diving into his solitary tasks helps the excitement to dissipate gradually, the entire time he is feeling keen to return to the man he left alone, when the call for duty rang out.  
  
Although, Paul got the impression - and can certainly understand from own experience -, that Hugh won’t necessarily mind his absence either, but could instead welcome the room to think right now.  
  
However, it does still feel uncomfortably lot like how things used to be. Before. With Paul wholly preoccupied with his work and neglecting the man.  
  
Paul pauses to look around the dim engineering room. The hours he has spent in here in the past, that could’ve been spent with the man instead, rush to his mind again. And all that time he spent afterwards beating himself about it. Regretting it.  
  
He wants to promise to himself, and to the man, that he’ll never do it again. Never take the man for granted. He’s fully aware of the miraculous second chance he’s been given here.  
  
After having refilled several spore containers with fresh crops, checked the drive’s default settings to match the optimal - few times over -, assured Ensign Tilly - persistently calling him from the Bridge - of his safe recovery, and finding no more menial tasks to do, he feels he might finally be of sound enough mind to go back home.  
  
He returns to the Turbolift and rides it across the ship as he always does.

[ ](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/183061462784/no-comfort-there-would-definitely-be-text)

  
  
Arriving at the home deck he finds he’s still hesitant. To give his nerves tiny bit more time, he decides to turn the opposite way to the usual most direct route from the Turbolift to their cabin, and circle the premises.  
  
It’s ridiculous. How is he this anxious over potentially upsetting the man, when just moments ago he was hurling himself across time and space without a second thought. Bravery in face of different things has such curiously varied ways of manifesting, he muses while traveling the near empty corridors of the residential deck.  
  
Finally at the cabin door Paul takes a deep breath. He opens the door and steps in carefully.  
  
The room is dim, warm and quiet. Hugh seems to be right where Paul left him: in bed, under covers.  
  
The man lays back to the door, and doesn’t seem to react to his presence, but Paul knows well enough to recognize from the breathing pattern, that the man isn’t asleep either.  
  
Another thing obvious to him, who knows the ways of abandonment Hugh used to prefer to relax in, is the vulnerability of the man now tightly tucked in, the blankets up to his ears.  
  
It is tragic, the way a man who was so admirably at ease within his body, now feels completely foreign to himself, trembling at smallest of touches.  
  
Despite this, Paul still can’t help but to smile content at the invitingly cozy scene, grateful.  
  
The healing may take time, but the man is back home at least. For with Hugh here that’s what this is again: a home. Not just a prison of memories.  
  
Paul removes his boots, then steps towards the bed, while freeing himself of the restrictively formfitting jacket.

Hugh stirs to the sound of the door opening and closing behind his back.  
  
He sighs slightly to himself for the relief of momentarily escaping his heavy, solitary thoughts, but feels too numb to turn to meet the arriving man.  
  
He hears the careful approach and feels the mattress give way as the familiar weight sits down on the edge of the bed.  
  
“Love?” the man asks quietly, and leans in. His breath feels soft and warm against Hugh’s skin before there’s a gentle kiss on the doctor’s cheek.  
  
It’s surprisingly welcome, and Hugh can sense the man’s faint smile in the touch of it, but another familiar sensation hits him sharply just then. A far more repulsive one, distracting from any comfort of the kiss.  
  
Hugh winches, and quickly pulls away from the man.  
  
“What?” Paul startles at Hugh’s sudden reaction, registering the man’s discomfort.  
  
Hugh turns further away from the man, clutching to the bed sheet as tears start to fill his eyes.  
  
“Dear!” Paul exclaims almost panicking, not knowing what just prompted such an unexpected reaction, and uncertain to lay a comforting hand on the man either, “what is it? Did I **do** something?”.  
  
He had been so careful not to scare the man. The kiss was too much, wasn’t it?  
  
Hugh whimpers, grabs the blankets covering him and gets up from the bed.  
  
“Darling!?”, Paul calls after the man. He is left confused and alone on the bed as Hugh crosses the room swiftly and sits down on the couch on the opposite end of it. The doctor wraps up in the sheets and stares at Paul with teary eyes.  
  
“I used to love it…”, Hugh begins, voice trembling, and eyes blinking to try and keep further tears away, “I used to love you coming home after work, smelling the way you do”.  
  
Of that mossy, earthly aroma mixed with something cold and metallic. The distinct smell of Paul. The distinct smell of the mycellium.  
  
“Fuck”, Paul realizes, quickly standing up from the bed, suddenly fully aware of himself, and like he’s contaminating these homely surroundings.  
  
“I must smell like death to you”. Death and torture. He and his uniform, soaked in the spores days in on out. It was a mistake to go play with them again.  
  
“I… I’ll go change and try to wash it off”, he states reassuringly, grabs his jacket with him, and steps towards the bathroom.  
  
A faint sob from Hugh stops him to turn back to look at the man.  
  
“I remember loving that smell”, the man sniffles, “it’s a part of who you were - are”. That forest fresh, mushroomy smell, enhanced by what ever electric discharge the spore drive infuses it’s navigator with.  
  
“How could we ever be close again?” Hugh laments, “You so involved with your fungus and stinking to high heavens of them, while I keep thinking I don’t want to have anything to do with another spore, ever again”. “It’s revolting, if anything”.  
  
It had never really occurred to Paul, that he’d have such a distinct aroma to himself. And regardless, such a thing wouldn’t have registered as high on their list of problems.  
  
He stands in the distance, hesitant, desperate to move close and take the man into a reassuring embrace, but held in place by the awareness of his toxicity to the man’s senses.  
  
In his mind also flashes an apprehensive notion of what Hugh must think of his resurrection being the result of the regenerative powers of the mycellium. It surely won’t aid the man to feel any more at ease in his body, Paul fears.  
  
“Well…”, he spreads his hands helplessly to his sides, before adopting a steadfast expression, “well, fuck that. I’ll bathe 20 times a day, if that’s what it takes”. “You won’t need to smell mushrooms ever again, if you can’t”, he states resolutely, “and it’ll be fine. I’ll have a complete smell makeover. And you get to choose the odor!”.  
  
Hugh looks at the man, perplexed. He can’t help it: the conviction in the man’s voice and the absurdity of the topic have him smiling just then. Chuckle.  
  
It’s the first since his return and suddenly has Paul too smiling madly. The hope in Paul’s demeanor clearly elevates to all new levels by it.  
  
And if it wasn’t for the current issue, the man would surely be there on that sofa, hugging his Dear Doctor triumphantly.  
  
As it is right now, the man just stands there grinning, not knowing what to do with himself, but gesture with his hands skittishly, and just be so very glad.  
  
“I… I’ll get right back to you”, Paul states giddily and disappears into the bathroom.  
  
Hugh sinks down on the couch and sighs heavily. He’s afraid how his tiny burst of momentary glee may have given his man unnecessary false hope. He’s feeling nowhere near normal, and the fear that he never will occupies his mind persistently.  
  
Then again, he did just almost laugh, didn’t he? And not only to appease the man, but actual mirth. Would he be a fool to have some hope after all?

Paul steps back into the room, shower fresh, and rubbing his hair into a towel, like he’s trying to rid it of pests. He walks slowly by the sofa, where Hugh is still curled up in his covers, staring nowhere into the thin air with a blank expression on his face.  
  
Paul sits down carefully on the opposite end of the couch from Hugh, allowing the man the time to regard his approach.  
  
“You good?” Paul inquires the solemn looking man, sets the towel aside and pulls on the hem of his freshly Replicated leisure shirt to adjust the firm fit.  
  
It’s a rare occasion to see out-of-uniform Paul in the Starfleet issued gear instead of his own usual sweater fare. He’s no doubt thinking it a more odor neutral option. Probably correctly too.  
  
“I’m good”, Hugh replies quietly, though bit hesitant. Paul smiles in reply. Wishing to eventually see that gloriously sunny smile return to his man’s face as well, but understanding how it will likely take a while.  
  
“And this is good?” Paul asks, waving a hand beneath his chin to indicate any remaining _“Eau de Paul”_.  
  
“Seems to have done the trick”, Hugh replies from behind his covers.  
  
“Or _“smells”_ to have done it?“, Paul jokes, but gets no response. The man in the blankets remains silent.  
  
Paul is just about to start feeling apprehensive of the silence, when the covers stir. “So, crisis averted?” the doctor lowers the blanket around himself enough to establish a better line of sight between the two of them.  
  
“I’m glad if it is”, Paul replies relieved, greeting the sight of the man with a smile, “I’d hate to be too pungent to even sit next to you”.  
  
He then realizes Hugh might’ve not been referring to this matter, but to Paul’s recent call to action. “Oh, that! Yes. That too, I suppose”, Paul stutters for words, “Crisis averted, as you say”.  
  
“You just swooped in again to save the day with your maths?” Hugh’s smile is lethargic, but Paul appreciates it. The man doesn’t seem quite present still, but it is so good to see him try.  
  
“Someone’s gotta keep these hapless Starfleet hotshots from killing themselves”, Paul keeps smiling back carefully, while hesitant as to how much he should say.  
  
He wants to tell it all. Hugh will find out eventually anyway, and he’d rather be the one to tell. But he’s uncertain the man is ready to receive any potentially unsavory news.  
  
Although, Hugh would never have Paul leave anyone for dead, regardless their prior deeds. His Dear Doctor has the sense and dignity to rise above such resentfulness after all.  
  
Still, it could prove a sore topic.  
  
Hugh closes his eyes, resting his head down on the sofa cushion. “The crew sure is lucky to have such a selfless savior amongst their ranks”, he states almost as if to himself, though how much irony the sentiment carries is left a mystery behind the man’s expressionless eyes.  
  
Such potentially emotionally charged, and admiringly caring statement from his seemingly listless Love has Paul re-evaluating his keeping silent, however. “Remember that jump to Qo'noS I mentioned yesterday?” he asks the man carefully.  
  
He has been trying to fill Hugh in as much as he dares at every possible opportunity.  
  
Although the man still doesn’t seem most receiving, Paul keeps hoping some of it will stick, and that something might even awaken the man’s responses.  
  
This particular detail had come up along with his quick telling of the end of the war.  
  
“I do. Damn reckless”, the man huffs faintly, his objection lacking any real conviction however.  
  
“Nothing reckless about it”, Paul assures calmly, “it was precision math”, he explains.  
  
He knows if the doctor was in his vigor and fully invested in the conversation, Paul would likely hear of something about _“borderline suicidal”_ , questions of who ever had authorized the stunt, and Hugh argue on the safety of theory against the risks of practice: highly susceptible to slightest of human errors, no matter how well planned.  
  
“I had to do something like that again today”, Paul tries to cautiously come out with what he set up here.  
  
“Really?”, Hugh doesn’t sound at all surprised.  
  
Paul would willingly put that wholly on the account of the man’s current phlegmatic mood, but has to admit, that there’s a certain predictable pattern to his behaviour as well, which might be aiding the lack of unexpectancy.  
  
“Odd”, the doctor adds morosely, “I must have dozed off then; I don’t remember hearing the alert”.  
  
“No. We… I wasn’t jumping. Not with the drive anyway” Paul tries to explain without telling **too** much.  
  
“Paul…”, Hugh sighs, with any possible hint of exasperation masked by heavy deflation, “do I need to hear this?”  
  
“No. You’re right, of course not”, Paul raises his hands in surrender and backs off readily, glad that the man is at least able to tell him off.  
  
“But”, Paul still insists on adding, “if you **do** however- eventually -, know that it was to save the Captain”.  
  
Hugh sighs. “I have told you before about saving captains. You can’t hold yourself solely responsible every time one finds itself in danger”.  
  
“Risking yourself for them is sheer stupidity. They have a whole crew behind them”.  
  
Paul agrees with that on principle, but would argue against the practicality in this instance: how he’s in a unique position from everyone else on this and alone with the capability to help.  
  
But he doesn’t. It’s clear Hugh doesn’t care to talk about this right now, and Paul has no desire to upset the distraught man one bit.  
  
Besides, he too would rather let the subject drop: talking about the matter could lead to old, uncomfortable memories regarding temporary timeloops to be brought up - something, which he’s not sure if he ever **fully** explained to Hugh.  
  
Or it could prompt the doctor to remind how it was Paul himself, who had put himself in this ‘unique position’ in the first place, injecting himself with the tardigrade dna.  
  
“Is the Captain at least worth saving this time?” Hugh’s inquiry sounds surprisingly invested all of a sudden, “you haven’t had any beef with them, like with the previous?”  
  
Paul’s introduction to Starfleet couldn’t have started under much worse command. Anything should be an improvement.  
  
“Yes. Yes, **he’s** worth saving, I’d say”, Paul assures, “a decent man”.  
  
Hugh brings the covers up to his ears again, burrowing into them. “ **He** must be something special indeed”, the doctor’s voice comes muffled through his nest, “that tone alone is a high compliment coming from you”.  
  
“That… that wasn’t really my point”, Paul hesitates again, skirting around the subject, “the point was I did it just to save the Captain. **Just** the Captain”.  
  
“And I’m sure they and their mission crew are all appreciative of your assist”, the doctor shrugs and shifts beneath the covers to a more cocooned position, which tells Paul he’s done talking.  
  
The man doesn’t comprehend what Paul is getting at. How could he.  
  
The mission crew indeed. Just whom Paul had had no intentions for, he would like to assure his man, but this is good for now. As long as Hugh will have something to recall, when he eventually **does** hear of the whole incident.  
  
That rescuing Ash Tyler, the man who murdered Hugh, was mostly of collateral human decency.  
  
A calm silence falls into the room as the couple just sit there.  
  
Paul finds he is feeling surprisingly relaxed just slouching here on the couch with no need to preoccupy his mind with anything. For so long now he has been trying to push aside, avoid or forget what ever unsavory reminders by drowning himself into work - or other less becoming things -, that just sitting here with his man next to him now feels immensely soothing.  
  
Even, if the man is in the state he is, and seeing him in the apparent discomfort like this hurts, Paul remains hopeful. He feels they will conquer this. With what all they’ve been through, he’s sure this will be just another step on the way.  
  
Perhaps after conquering death it’s hard to let things get to you, he considers.

“Have you eaten?” Paul breaks the silence after a while.  
  
“I’m not hungry”, the voice replies from beneath the covers. An answer much like what Paul himself had offered Hugh many times in the past.  
  
“Ah. Then you probably haven’t drank either?” Paul knows from experience.  
  
He gets up and heads for the Replicator by the dining table setup in the corner of the room, “but, that’s besides the point, as I remember one considerate ‘Commanding Lieutenant’ telling me more than once: _“you need to remember to eat, despite your mood”_ ”.  
  
“Advice from one Commander to another?” the voice from the blankets replies.  
  
Paul looks at the direction of the suddenly almost playful sounding man with delighted surprise.  
  
“ **Yes** ”, he agrees, beaming, “advice among men of equal rank”.  
  
“I suppose I should feel glad”, Hugh’s head raises up from behind the blanket barrier, his weary smile appearing almost coy, “I won’t need to worry about slipping it out on duty any longer. I could finally just call you my Commander when ever”.  
  
Paul is utterly pleased to see the man’s mood suddenly uplifted enough for such apparent perkiness.  
  
“Is that good?” Paul smiles playfully. “So can anyone else - and they do”, he points out nonchalantly, walking back by the sofa and handing Hugh a glass of water.  
  
The doctor sits up to take the glass, and throws a look at the man, brows raised and the realization openly visible on his face.  
  
“It’s actually been very… odd”, Paul reveals, “to have everyone call me that now. Everyone but”. The man raises his eyebrows in a distinctively indicative manner, in reply to Hugh’s expression.  
  
Hear everyone call him with that, which had been a strictly intimate pet name between him and Hugh, long before Paul ever joined the ranks. _“Crushing”_ is the word he’d like to use to describe the constant reminder, if it wasn’t such a mood killer, and increasingly irrelevant a thing now.  
  
“Oh, of course”, Hugh seems to take in the idea.  
  
Where there surely would have been a snarky reply from the doctor in the past, now a sullen silence fills the space once more.  
  
“Perhaps you’ll need to start addressing me as _“Captain”_ then?“, Paul kids to breach the gap in conversation, suddenly feeling completely undeserving of Hugh’s sympathies.  
  
It’s flippant of him, Paul thinks, to talk about his meager problems, when the man himself has gone through what must have been true hell.  
  
Hugh replies with a faint courtesy smile.  
  
Paul would love to be able to just talk to the man about the ordeal. Or for the man to be able to open up to him about it.  
  
But is there any way he could bring the subject up, without asking the man to relive whatever nightmares he had been through there, in the network. Paul can’t even begin to imagine.  
  
He remembers how they had been here before, after the Glenn incident. Roles reversed. Just like then, this also seems something quite too enormous for the two of them alone right now. Much more so, even.  
  
So, as inconsiderate as it feels to lay his own sorry worries on the already burdened man, he does also realize, how they are an easier topic in lieu of the serious issues. Damn avoidance perhaps, but something to keep the spirits, if clearly not up, at least somewhat level between them.  
  
And perhaps to assure the man how dearly he has been missed, without going into too painful details.  
  
Paul swirls the drink in his own glass, hesitating again for where he should carry the conversation.  
  
“You remember that idea you had after the Glenn incident?”, Paul asks carefully, “about introducing psychiatric support for crews aboard ships?”  
  
Hugh’s glass of water stands abandoned on the table, the man himself buried back into his blankets - his head nods gently in agreement from somewhere in midst of the pile.  
  
The doctor had told Paul once of the hopelessness he had experienced in the situation after Straal’s passing, understanding what Paul must have gone through, but feeling unable to reach the man to help. He must get what Paul is trying to say right now. If in an embarrassingly roundabout way perhaps, Paul thinks of his tiptoeing around the subject.  
  
“I suppose nothing much came of that yet, given the previous Command?”, Paul contemplates, “but perhaps that is something you could pursue in the future again, once you’re up for it?”  
  
“I can now agree, that there would be a lot of demand for something like that”, Paul admits, “Even, if I wasn’t able to express my appreciation for it the first time you brought it up”.  
  
Hugh seems hesitant, and Paul immediately feels he’s pushing the man too hard.  
  
“However, not a matter to concern oneself with just now, right?” he attempts to draw the man’s attention back to the current moment, pausing for a while to wait, if the man wants to say something. Anything.  
  
But nothing comes.  
  
“So, how about it - dinner?” Paul circles back to his original distraction, “would you be up for a trip to the mess hall, or should I get us something here?”  
  
“I don’t think I’m ready to go out there”, Hugh’s reply sounds mumbled through the covers.  
  
“I get you completely”, Paul replies, sounding almost relieved, “never could stand the place myself. As you well know of course”.  
  
Though, there had been times after Hugh’s passing, when the place had also offered welcome distraction from unwanted thoughts.  
  
Paul realizes only then, that _“out there”_ probably meant **anywhere** on the ship, outside the confinement of their cabin. Which too must play a part in keeping the man feeling so disoriented: the detachment from the crew the man used to pride himself for being a part of, and in most part knowing personally even.  
  
Like it’s been with any crew the man’s ever been involved with, Paul’s gotten the impression.  
  
The man must be feeling like a stranger on a strange ship, not knowing his current Fleet family closely.  
  
“I could still go get us something”, Paul offers, “it’d be more wholesome, than anything we can Replicate here”.  
  
“You don’t have to - not for me”, Hugh mutters, “I don’t think I could stomach anything too wholesome right now”.  
  
Hugh turns his gaze to regard the man, who keeps looking at him keenly with such a gently expectant expression. “If you need to get something for yourself, by all means… but I’d really prefer if you stayed”, Hugh confesses, surprised by it himself, but realizes he doesn’t want to be left alone here with his confusing thoughts right now.  
  
Something, which Paul immediately recognizes.  
  
“No, I’m fine”, Paul states resolutely, admittedly gladdened to hear that Hugh not only welcomes his presence, but relies on it, “we’ll stay in and snack then. Perfect!”. He gets up from the couch and heads to the Replicator again.  
  
Paul’s exuberance seems so affectuous right then, that it’s hard to keep up any grave demeanor in the face of it, Hugh smiles, looking at the man, busy generating a bowl of nuts.  
  
Paul regards the smile and responds in kind, as he walks back to the couch. He pushes the bowl on the table towards Hugh and sits down, adopting a more solemn expression.  
  
“I want you to know, Dear, that if there’s anything you’d want to talk about, at any time, I’m not only here to listen: I **want** to hear it”, Paul assures with a serious look of sincerity on him, “ **anything** you feel like sharing”.  
  
Hugh looks at the man’s seemingly candid expression, unsure, feeling increasingly like he himself isn’t the only man changed: he hasn’t seen **one** familiar frown on Paul yet. Expression, which in the past was near constant on the man - in one form or another, happy or sad: the man had a frown for each mood.

Hugh is hit with a troubled idea: like he’s still trapped in some alternative dimension, and this is not the man he knew.  
  
It’s confusing, and here where he should probably be feeling proud of how much Paul seems to have grown in his absence, he suddenly finds the intolerable feeling he’s been trying to extinguish, surfacing again. Irritation.  
  
Uncharacteristic irritation, which he would have held unreasonable and most unnecessary in the past, but which now feels uncomfortably right. For the injustice he feels for what’s happened to him, and by extension to all he’s held dear. All, which now seems so distant and unfamiliar to him. Unrecognizable.  
  
“Will you wipe that pretentious smile off your face”, he huffs at the man, unable to hold in anymore the feeling pressing on his nerves.  
  
“Excuse me?” Paul comes back earnestly, stunned by the sudden lash in reply to his sincerity.  
  
“What do you think I could **possibly** have to share with you but suffering and misery?” Hugh scoffs.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dear. I didn’t mean to push you”. Paul regards the man, trying to assess the source and reason for this sudden mood swing. “But if that’s what you have, Dear”, Paul proposes, “perhaps it’s exactly what you **should** share. To ease the burden”.  
  
“Or double it?”, Hugh shoots back viciously, “Why would I want that? Have you too suffer the mental agony? And feel that much more pity from you for having endured what I did”.  
  
“Solidarity, Dear”, Paul tries to calm the man.  
  
“I don’t need your cheering up, Paul”, Hugh interrupts.  
  
“…it would do good to share the pain with **someone** , if not with me”, Paul concludes his thought. “You know this yourself”.  
  
Hugh frowns. “How can you just smile so carefree after what’s happened? To you, to me. To us”, he comments on the persistently optimistic look on the man’s face, “Do you not feel **at all** wronged?”.  
  
“Darling, I…”  
  
“Will you stop with that!”, Hugh snaps on the sound of yet another endearing title, “I’m not in the mood for your sappy sentimentality or obsessive nurturing”.

“I want back the Paul I knew. The one who said what ever he thought. Spilled the truth without care for decorum”, Hugh yells at the man, “Where is that man now? How do you **really** feel about all of this, Paul?”.  
  
The viciousness of Hugh’s voice stings, but Paul tries his best to keep it from showing. There it finally is however: a frown Hugh needed to see. This one to mask Paul’s hurt.

“Do you not feel angry at all?”, Hugh’s voice sounds fiercely demanding.

Paul can only try and guess to understand where this unexpected anger stems from. Perhaps it’s that the man has not seen his suffering from the joy Paul has had for having Hugh here again, and feels alone with his despair, Paul reasons.

  
“Of course I do. Or I did”, Paul tries to find the words, “and I **am** telling you what I truly feel”.  
  
“After your passing, I was angry, lost, hurt, hopeless, helpless, miserable…”, he tries to put into words the feelings he knows too strong to fully convey verbally, “all the things I’m sure you must be feeling right now. I too felt them”.  
  
“And **what**?”, Hugh replies bitterly, still unable to trust the man’s sincerity, “you just got over it?”  
  
“No. I don’t think I did”, Paul admits, “I learned to deal with it. As much as I did”.  
  
He takes a deep breath in hopes of regaining some of is posture, which is shattering in front of the aggressiveness of this confrontation.

“Remember, what you once told me after one of our first fights aboard?”, Paul goes on, actually glad for this supposed barricade between them, “that it had been my enthusiasm that had convinced you to take your chance with me after few of our calls”.  
  
“Gave you hope for something which you did not think possible at first, and helped you see what you hoped true, but could not believe yourself”, he calls to mind the doctor’s words.  
  
“Believe me, I was so furious and devastated after you”, Paul recalls, “but it was your voice which helped me with the suffering and held me strong, when I needed it”.

Paul wants Hugh to understand, that the man is not alone in feeling lost. “The example you had set guided me through”.  
  
“I needed but to think _“what would Hugh do”_ and I would see a way out of many a low”, he wishes to make clear, that the man had been in his mind constantly. Perhaps more, than he dares to admit.  
  
“It was still hard, of course. But at least you made it possible”, Paul attempts a careful smile through his apprehensive frown, “Just like you said I once did to you”.  
  
Hugh seems genuine with regarding the man opening up to him, but ultimately seems unmoved.

“I’m sorry, but that wasn’t me”, he dully shoots down Paul’s notion, “That was what ever ideal image you held of me”.  
  
“I know you’re trying to help”, Hugh attempts to reply mindful to the sentiments he currently fails to agree with, “I just can’t…”.  
  
“I just can’t shake this… this frustration”. For a moment it seems the man is near to tears again, and Paul wants to lean in and hug the broken man, but fears it’s too much.

“I understand that well”, Paul agrees, remembering his own past desperation. He reaches for the edge of the blanket and tugs it slightly, enough for the man to hopefully regard his wish for closeness.

The expression on the man’s face stiffens again.  
  
“And this Paul? Who is this Paul?” the doctor scoffs at Paul’s seemingly tenacious optimism,“I don’t recognize you”.  
  
Paul tries not to let the words hurt, acknowledging this mood. He knows it’s not Paul, whom Hugh isn’t recognizing, but perhaps himself, and how that might reflect to his view of Paul.  
  
“Sure you do. If you look close enough”, Paul replies, trying not to let the sympathy he has for Hugh’s apparent state of mind show too much on his face, lest it reads as condescending to the man, “I’m the same Paul as ever. The Paul, who fell madly for you the moment we met, but was too bratty to realize it, the Paul who pursued you and whom you said convinced you of us. I’m the Paul who learned to love because of you, and the Paul who couldn’t go without that love anymore. I’m the Paul who doesn’t tell you this enough, and the Paul who intends to fix that. I’m the Paul, who loves you. And I’m the same Paul whom you’ve loved”.  
  
There’s no reply from the doctor. The man seems suddenly void of all emotion.  
  
Paul shrugs. “I’m also the Paul who missed you so much he just had to grow a bit, to fill the void left by you, and who is now over the stars ecstatic and so enormously grateful to have you back”.  
  
“If you’ve been able to fill that void, what’s my place anymore?” Hugh remarks bluntly.  
  
“Dear…”, Paul sighs back solicitously, “nothing could ever fully fill your place”.  
  
“And as much as I would love to just snap at you to get over it, I genuinely can’t”, Paul remarks jestingly, “After having been there, I know it **takes** to conquer it”.  
  
Paul fears he knows exactly what Hugh is feeling. He’s afraid the doctor might be falling to that embitterment he himself had apparently hold onto for many years.  
  
“Takes what?”, Hugh inquiries in a coldly demanding tone.  
  
“Effort”, Paul specifies, trying to block aside the man’s apparent hostility, “how ever much and what kind, that I can’t tell. It must be individual”.  
  
He says this realizing it could be even harder for Hugh to get past this low: the man was already beyond such useless, self-pitying mentality before.  
  
For Paul to get over his wallowing in misery, he had to learn to move forward, grow to be a better man, as it were. For Hugh however, such healing could mean needing to turn back, to find again what he’s lost, to regain his former self. If it is to be found.  
  
“Goodness, you sound obnoxious”, Hugh scoffs.  
  
“I know”, Paul chuckles in reply, remembering the countless times it had been Paul himself on the receiving end of Hugh’s pep talks, “Annoyingly pompous, isn’t it, when you’re not feeling it yourself?”  
  
The doctor sneers, seemingly fed up with the jests.  
  
Hugh would first need to want it of course, to find his former self. And Paul dearly hopes the man does. But what can he say? _“Just be the you you were before”_? Like none of this ever happened?  
  
“You’ll get there”, Paul assures, “ **We’ll** get there”.  
  
“I don’t know, Mushroom”, Hugh expresses with heavy weariness in his voice, “I wouldn’t count on it too much”.  
  
Paul’s gaze freezes to the man. Overwhelmed, suddenly there are tears pooling in the scientist’s eyes.  
  
“Paul? What is it?” Hugh is suddenly hit with a reflex he didn’t think himself capable of anymore, his voice carrying tones of worry for this spontaneous outburst.  
  
“Paul, **please** ”, Hugh tries to soothe the man, but the tone in his voice swifts back to sounding more bothered than caring, as he feels the irritation within himself rising again, for being pushed to respond to these foreign emotions, which he’s too confused to handle - too indifferent for them to find any sincerity in his response.

“I didn’t mean to extinguish your hope. Please, stop that weeping”, Hugh dismisses the man.  
  
“It’s not that”, Paul’s reply comes out in a sob, “you just…”, Paul fails to find the right words, “fuck”.  
  
“ _“Mushroom”_ “, Paul chokes and wipes the tears off his cheeks, “I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed hearing that”.  
  
Fuck, it’s a delight, Paul finds his mind elevated again, despite the man’s apparent detachment.  
  
Hugh feels unaffected by it, however. Involuntary action from using the name in excess in the past, the doctor concludes. Slip of a tongue, which hit an unfortunately tender spot it seems.  
  
Hugh gets up from the couch, shedding the blanket. He seems done with this conversation.  
  
“I’m sorry I made you cry, Paul”, he frowns, uneasy for the vulnerable man next to him, “but try as I may, I just don’t seem able to… to feel the way I used to”.  
  
“I **remember** , that I used to”, Hugh recalls, “but trying to regain that seems useless. It’s tiring more than anything”.  
  
Paul wipes his tears, increasingly embarrassed for his outburst in the face of Hugh’s uncomfortingly unsentimental demeanor.  
  
“Perhaps we both need some sleep?”, Paul suggests, gathering himself, “I’m quite exhausted after today’s adventures too”.  
  
“We could see, if tomorrow’s any better for a conversation”, Paul adds wishfully, “And perhaps try to have a walk around the ship too”.

And visit the mess hall even, to get some proper food, Paul considers, regarding the untouched bowl of nuts on the table.  
  
He turns to look at Hugh with cautiously hopeful eyes. Almost apologetic for his emotions. Afraid to show them too openly now, knowing the man is unresponsive to them, and fearing he’ll just upset Hugh by ‘flaunting’ his barest feelings in front of the man.  
  
In a way it feels almost as if he’s trying to connect with some youthful crush.  
  
“You won’t mind, if I sleep there?”, Hugh disregards Paul’ suggestions, and gestures back towards the couch, his expression troubled.  
  
“Oh?”, Paul regards the request.

It’s perhaps for the best indeed. Hugh clearly needs his space still, and given how Paul used to sleep with his arms wrapped around the man, it could proof unfortunately intrusive trying to share a bed with the alienated man.  
  
“I can sleep here”, Paul offers from the couch, “you take the bed”.  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yes, please”, Paul assures, “I’m actually used to sleeping here a lot more soundly anyway”, he confesses, patting the sofa cushions.

The bed had just evoked far too many tainted memories for him, keeping him awake lost in bittersweet recollections.  
  
Something Paul makes sure not to share with the man here and now however, not wishing to make Hugh feel any more uncomfortable.  
  
“Fine”, Hugh agrees.  
  
“You sure you don’t want something to eat still?” Paul picks up the bowl, handing it towards Hugh.  
  
“Paul”, Hugh’s fierce tone alone serves as a warning for the man to back off.  
  
Which the man does: puts the bowl back, raises his hands and shakes his head compliantly to indicate there’ll be no other word out of him.  
  
Hugh sees how the harsh tone strikes the man again. And feels guilt for acting so coldly towards the man who means no harm.  
  
“I’ll need to freshen up”, Hugh huffs in frustration, and Paul turns to watch the man disappears into the bathroom to his evening tasks, alone.

Hugh enters the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief once the door behind him closes.  
  
Paul’s constant watch over him is making Hugh feel like some sort of a pet, in need of supervision before being housebroken.  
  
He knows the man means well, but can’t help this irritation swelling inside himself.  
  
It is getting on Hugh’s nerves, almost as much as his inability to connect with all these feelings he remembers he once had for the man.  
  
He remembers so much - perhaps all of it -, but feels nothing. Nothing, but frustration for not feeling.  
  
All these memories, they appear to him like reading a story about them. A damn good story. One that makes him want to live a story like that.  
  
Like one of those trashy novels he used to read to empty his head, and which the man would tease him about.  
  
Vivid, moving, evoking his empathy and pulling on his heartstrings. Masterfully described to him. But not real, right?  
  
They’re nothing but words telling him how to react. But he can’t. As hard as he tries, he can’t force himself to feel. The character he’s supposed to feel for seems too distant, too underdeveloped for him to relate.  
  
He remembers scenes throughout their story, but fails to connect. He wants to be this character his mind keeps telling him about, but it’s as useless as wishing to be a hero in a story. He can only aspire to be something **like** that. All the while knowing himself he isn’t really.  
  
He remembers their first encounter, not like the man likes to tell it - a rosy tale of two minds baring before one and other -, but the actual confrontation of drunken heckling and annoyed rebuttal. Nothing but a comedic scene ever after the actual incident.  
  
He remembers their long late-night conversations. Inspired and reassuring.  
  
He remembers the man cursing a lot. And how he had been surprised for not finding it more off-putting.  
  
He remembers the man’s endearingly childlike glee and wonder when ever he gets excited for something.  
  
And that tiny, anxious rubbing touch when ever the man gets… excited.  
  
Or the cheesy one-liners the man starts spouting, when ever he’s feeling particularly in love.  
  
Or the way the man actually attests his love by actions rather than with words. He remembers the things the man does only for Hugh.

Not to him. To this Hugh character, whom Hugh only remembers from the story.  
  
Hugh jolts back from the storybook memories. Pushed out by the flood of them. One after another sweeter. One after another just as detached.  
  
He finds himself standing in front of the mirror, leaning against the sink, and there is this character staring back at him. No, it’s him. And there are tears in his eyes. A faint smile on his lips?  
  
Is he feeling these memories after all? Or just weeping for a good story?  
  
He lowers his gaze and regards the pair of glass cups set on the edge of the sink. With a toothbrush in each. He remembers this too. And this is not a story - it’s right here, real.  
  
He picks up one of the toothbrushes and is suddenly filled with a feeling, like something is missing from this scene. A man.  
  
The man he had shared many cozy moments with in this setting, and many more in ones much like it before.  
  
Hugh’s mind skips to remind him of the man’s arms around him, and how he felt safe and loved in their embrace.  
  
In fact, he remembers it being one of the last feelings he ever had: Paul’s arms around him, when Hugh took his last breath - there on the sickbay floor. Even then he felt safe - safe to let go without fear of what lay beyond. He remembers Paul calling after him, and remembers it making him feel loved.  
  
He remembers he told this to the man too. The last time they saw each other. And it was Hugh himself then, who had tried to push the man forward. Convince him, encourage him.  
  
It had been after Hugh’s death. Does this mean something could have survived? Is he not dead inside after all? Could there be something to salvage still? Why would his feelings for the man have changed since that last time?  
  
Hugh suddenly feels he wants the man in here with him. To complete this homely setting. Have the man tell Hugh about his day, like he used to - like he had just tried to back there on the couch -, and counting on Hugh’s opinion and advice.  
  
Hugh startles to a faint knock on the door. “Hugh?”, a careful voice calls to him, and Hugh realizes he must’ve stood here a good while.  
  
“I’m fine”, Hugh replies wiping the surprise tears off his face, and relieved for how sincere he suddenly finds the worry in the man’s voice. His irritation for it seems to have subsided: it’s but familiar and welcome now. Comforting.  
  
Reassuring Hugh of the possibility, that there could be a way out of this limbo after all - that this might be but a phase, and he just needs to have the patience to wade through this uncertainty, like he has many times before in life.  
  
Perhaps he will be able to regain his feelings after all. Find his love for the man again, and some day have his storybook romance.

[ ](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/183309883094/back-home-episode-8-for-our-couple-well-that)

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on the work posted along with the illustration on [**tumblr**](https://jmalkki.tumblr.com/post/183330830444/after-all-a-chapter-lost-to-canon).
> 
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